


from my cold hands to your warm heart

by lufink



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Post-Canon, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:21:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26303350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lufink/pseuds/lufink
Summary: Their world had been saved and the Promare eventually came back home, however Lio Fotia found that in the icy-cold emptiness that was left of him – of all of them – some scars wouldn’t heal. Perhaps all that was needed was a helping hand, and Galo Thymos, wearing his heart – burning bright – up his own scarred sleeve, would definitely agree.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	from my cold hands to your warm heart

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Aux mains froides le coeur chaleureux](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26300434) by [lufink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lufink/pseuds/lufink). 



> **disclaimer:** Trigger & XFLAG
> 
> guess who watched promare four (4) times in two weeks? yep, it's me. every hour is promare hour now. also everyone say _thank you Mau_ because 1) it's her fault she showed me the movie, 2) she's the best beta-reader _ever_ and i love her LOTS (you can check her works [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ehxia)). take care y'all, and enjoy~  
> 

* * *

“Give a man a fire and he’s warm for the day. But set fire to him and he’s warm for the rest of his life.” —Terry Pratchett

* * *

“May I…?”

The question had danced for so long on his lips – each time _that_ idiot would remove his medical sleeve – that Lio almost believed he would never muster the courage to ask.

(He desperately wanted – needed – to _feel_ the burn, for some reason yet unknown to him.)

Lio took off his gloves; although his hands were as frozen and _somewhat_ trembling, Galo didn’t complain. Was he able to see through _him_ , through that unusually cautious and tender touch? What was there to see, Lio Fotia wouldn’t even admit it to himself – for it was a deep-seated sorrow he wasn’t ready to deal with.

(Skin and flesh under skin were carved, for the Burnish flames burrowed deep, all-devouring; Lio’s fingers ran and ran and _ran_ across the scarred arm, looking for a remembrance – of _warmth_ – or perhaps for redemption, finding only that his heart was devoid of anything but regret, and emptiness. Moreover, Lio was certain that despite the excruciating pain Galo surely had endured, that moron would simply say–)

“It wasn’t hot at all.”

Galo was smiling, as he always did and would always do, as if the world hadn’t been on the verge of collapsing mere days ago and it hadn’t actually been _their fault_ and _everything will be alright, Lio_ –

“Hey, my burning soul is–“  
“One million and ten times hotter,” Lio interrupted without even noticing.

 _That_ smile was something else entirely – Galo positively _beamed_ at him, brighter than the sun, or a thousand. Lio couldn’t help but laugh – it was a shy yet genuine laugh, soon joined by another, larger than life itself – and the warmth spread to his cold, cold heart, tied in knots tentatively unfurling.

Laughter eventually faded however the warmth remained (and despite being very different from the one Lio was used to, he welcomed it all the same).

“You’ve got some, too.”

At once his face fell; not only did Lio remember the forlorn cries of the flames – and of his comrades – resonating all around the cockpit, he was also _terrified_. Allowing himself to be vulnerable has never been his forte, and yet.

“Can I touch them?”

(And _yet_ , Lio nodded, for he was choking on feelings unnamed.)

As soon as Galo’s hands were on him – chasing the ghosts of restraints which weren’t always shaped like barbed wire, digging deep into the flesh – Lio was deaf to anything but his own heartbeat, pounding so hard it would certainly break his bones and walls and doubts and all that was left of him. Galo Thymos’ fingers were as gentle on his skin as they had been when cradling his agonizing soul and it shattered him _whole_.

Then, his own hand brushed over Lio’s, and Galo came _closer_ , so close their breaths were mingling quite freely, foreheads joined as one. When he spoke, his voice did not falter:

“You’re not alone anymore, so cast that Burnish pride of yours aside, OK?”

(Lio wanted to shout, or cry, or _both_ , for the everlasting fire that once consumed his body was long gone, and who could he protect, with fingers cold as ice?)

“I’ll protect you all, as you protected _me_.”

In that unwavering gaze Lio saw the truth – Galo wasn’t lying, never will be – so he leaned into the touch, albeit timidly; and that truth was the following: the fire in his body and soul may have been quenched, the one dancing in Galo Thymos’ eyes would burn till kingdom come. Perhaps, then, perhaps that idiot was _correct_ , perhaps everything would eventually be alright.


End file.
